Soy Sauce, Wasabi, and a Salty Heart
by LadyRuebo
Summary: Trunks experiences sibling jealousy while Vegeta bounces Bulla on his knee one quiet afternoon. Vegeta is well aware, but Trunks is oblivious to his father's thoughts. Trunks thinks he's seen it all regarding his father until the sushi flies. No one is immune to such a mess, but soy sauce compliments sweet things... like Vegeta's intentions. FLUFF, slice of life, Vegeta's POV.


**Hey Guys, Ruebo here. I write a lot about Vegeta's personal relationships; I wanted to focus on someone different in this fic. This is just a short little , 'slice of life' drabble dealing with the interactions of Vegeta and Trunks. Thank you in advance for reading. Reviews, requests, and comments are welcome. (Please, please, please, please, please!). Enjoy.**

You're so content to bounce on my knee, you little wobbly child. You're going to hurt yourself, smacking your tiny fingers against this glass table. Why did I ever think that you would be less troublesome than your brother. Rotten child—rotten!

"Vegeta I wish you wouldn't let her do that."

"You used to tell me not to throw Trunks in the air—look at him now. He laughs at the flying metal scraps you Earthlings call transportation. Is she leaving my lap? No."

"Oh, please."

It does me no good to order you not to snicker at me, woman. How many times has spit flew from your lips, littering my flushed face in a fit of arrogant laughter? Far too many for my liking, but the air is empty without it.

"I know you wouldn't drop her for anything, but that's not what I'm talking about."

"What is it then, oh only wise woman of the common-sense lacking sages of this planet?"

"Totally a compliment by the way, dad," Trunks added.

"Boy, don't you betray me."

I understand the grin for your jabbering sister and the over-sized red bow hugging her head, but why do your brows creep over your eyes when you see me, son?

"Vegeta, I'm gonna laugh when she pukes all over you."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"Wait, why didn't I get to see this mom? Where are the pictures?"

So this is how it is? You team up against me for amusement. I didn't expect anything less. Your cantankerous blood comes honestly. Are you going to tell him, or me woman?

"You're the one who spilled your disgusting, half-ingested food waste all over me, boy."

"What?"

"I know—big shock. You lived to hear about it."

"Trunks, honey, it was awesome—"

"Speak for yourself."

Here it comes. Trying to talk you down is like trying to charm a snake with a kazoo.

"So your dad picks you up above his head, and you projectile barfed down his shoulder..."

Son, I'm still at a loss for who I should thank for your laugh. By no means am I a subject for your entertainment, but that deep laugh from your belly… all day every day son. I would endure your mother's beloved internet garbage and download that shit in a heart beat. I would stick those headphones in my ears, just so I could hear it over and over again. I'll let her continue.

"There were chunks—CHUNKS beneath your dad's shirt. I don't know how you did it. I almost coughed up a lung laughing when I realized he wasn't going to blast us both. A few lumps were behind his ear!"

I remember the first time I saw it— humans laughing so hard that they cry. It was your mother and that idiot dessert bandit. Now I make her laugh…evolution is strange. You wick the moisture from your eye with the edge of your thumb. Your eyes are wild, electric blue against their blood shot vessels. Hello handsome.

"I haven't seen this China before."

"It's new, honey. Grandma picked it out."

Son, you attentively watch her set the table— your mother. You keep your folded hands from the table to avoid her busy fingers. I know her subtle smile. She'll kiss you on the temple of your head, just like she always has, night or day, sleep or wake, peace or worry. Your face remains hard? Am I to blame for this part of you.

"Daddy's girl," Bulma said.

Bulma, your so eager to kiss our jittering daughter's round cheek.

"She too is her mother's spoiled Brat."

"Malarky. You're worse than I am this time."

"Daughter of mine, when are you going to grow some hair?"

"Leave her alone, you meanie, tell'em Bulla-chan say, 'It takes time to grow it cause its extra beautiful'."

"My Gods, please don't remind me. I pray she just has blue fuzz forever."

"Come help me grab this stuff, real quick."

"About time. I'm starving. Trunks, take your sister."

You nod, but your face says it all. You wear jealousy well. You could at least try to curl your lips at me. I wish no such misfortune on you, but slower hands would have pleased me today. The brush of your fingers wasn't enough. Son, will callouses mark the palms of your hands? Will scars cover your hands, like your father. I can hear it. Your speaking voice will deepen to your laugh. I'm eager to hear it change. My eyes long to see the clever man you will be, but how I long for you to stay shoulder high and only concerned about your daily shenanigans. Well, your mother won't wait forever, boy.

"I see you've made the coleslaw yourself, woman."

"And?"

It's just like your words. It runs right through me, rumbling my inner constitution. My guts are not prepared for such abuse.

"Readying my entrails, that's all."

"Shut-up and grab it while I get the sushi."

"You sure? It's heavy."

"Now you decide to be worried about it? I've got it badman."

"I hate when you call me that!"

You might as well have took a grinder to my earlobes.

"I know."

Oh, shit.

"Look out!"

Who knew a tray of chopped raw fish could be so graceful. It had to be the damn tempura rolls-my favorite.

"Bulma, are you hurt?"

Come now, let me help you up.

"No, I'm fine."

"It's that stupid mongrel cat. She has to be right underneath your feet."

"Don't blame Blue Bell, I just didn't see her."

"Yeah. Blue Bell. I'll really make her turn blue the next time it happens."

"Would not, Bulla-chan loves her."

"Whatever, have it your way. The worst punishment she'll get is having to make room for my feet in our bed this evening."

Back to you son. My vindication is at hand. I saw it the moment the soy sauce launched from the tray in its glass saucer and the salty brine swirled over the edge of its cup. Pieces of chopped salmon rain onto the patio, plunking the stones and table with meaty slabs.

"Doesn't feel so good does it son? Not so funny when its you."

"Just hilarious. Funny, you seem to get a good kick out of it though. I thought you were too sophisticated for such things."

"Don't pout with me, boy. Let me see."

"Bulla's fine. Can you just take her so I can go change?"

"You. Let me look at you."

I feel my cheeks raise beneath my eyes. I can't fight it. Son, green suits you—wasabi green that is. Your grandmother will fret over the soy sauce coating your shirt and Bulla's polka dot dress.

"I didn't know they made suits in that color."

"I didn't know you would succumb to 'dad jokes'. Just get it over with. If your gonna laugh then do it."

"Come here princess."

Yes. Absolutely. Clap your little hands at this girl. Don't sulk away from me son. I've perfected that art. I know it better than anyone.

"Trunks."

"What?"

"Don't get it on the carpet, and one last thing…"

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

"You've got wasabi right here."

You're beyond irritated. You're angry boy. You didn't even watch the end of my finger trail to your brow.

"You wanna know how to get it off, Trunks?"

"Sure."

Indulging me was a mistake. I know you associate my fist with pain, but why do you stiffen up with the palm of my hand? Could it be my hand is cold on the back of your neck? Nope. Still don't think that's right. I got it. It was my tongue on your face.

"Oh, my God, dad!"

Howl with laughter just like I wanted you to. The serious scowl fades. This shocked toothy grin is a much better accessory.

"Eww! Is this real life?"

"Of course. Your eye brow—"

"Leave my eyebrows out of this."

You cock your head over your shoulder and grin at me.

"What are you giggling about? Oh no you don't… put that shrimp down."

You dare to throw cold, raw fish at your father. You don't have to answer that. The sliver of meat would have to get stuck to my nose.

"Yes. Now go, hurry before your mother manages to take pictures of this foolishness. Change your clothes. Be sure to slick your eyebrow back down. We will wait. Use your foot to nudge the sliding glass door. You'll leave a print."

"Got it."

What is it with your generation and slamming the door? I thought your mother was bad.

"Vegeta, honey."

"What, Bulma?"

"You could have just kissed him if you wanted to. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"Kissed him! Woman, you think—"

You would do this now, girl, slapping your sticky soy soaked hand on my cheek. You look almost nothing like me, but I'll never dare to question it. Your cruelty proves that you belong to me, Bulla-chan. You little savage. You can't let your old man bask in his pride and tell a little white-lie.

"Woman, the opportunity presented itself. Think what you want."


End file.
